


Zen and the Art of Mindin’ Your Own Damn Business

by Zanne



Series: Tao & Zen [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, wincest (non-graphic/implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:03:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby's view on Sam and Dean's brotherly relationship and the outside world that made it evolve into something it was never intended to be. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Zen and the Art of Mindin’ Your Own Damn Business

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [](http://gestaltrose.livejournal.com/profile)[ **gestaltrose**](http://gestaltrose.livejournal.com/) for her fast beta-ing.  She had no idea what this was about before reading and still got it, so no worries if you haven't read _Tao_.  It'll just be even better if you do.  Kripke owns the Winchesters. (Originally posted: 9/16/07) 

  
The first time Bobby Singer met the Winchester boys, he wondered what kind of damn fool would take a couple of kids with him on a hunt.

That man became no less of a fool in Bobby’s eyes, but did somehow manage to become more like a friend…well, something like a friend when Bobby didn’t feel like shooting a hole right through that stubborn, smug expression that so often carved its way onto John’s features.

Remained a damned fool until he died a fool’s death, and that’s a fact.

But that’s not _then_ and it’s certainly not _now_ , so it’s not at all important to the story. History’s history, even when it’s happening in the future.

The first time Bobby saw John Winchester, the man was struggling to get a duffel over his shoulder, the obvious weight of the bag making him list to the side, indicating the probability of heavy weaponry sheathed in the faded army green sack. The blood staining his right arm suggested why he was weaving on his feet as he quietly motioned for the older boy to take his barely ambulatory brother’s hand and follow him to the door.

John paused several yards from the doorstep, seemingly oblivious to the rain that soaked him to the skin. His two little boys huddled behind him, the littlest one carefully sheltered under the bag’s overhang by his older brother, as if hoping it would block the heavy drops.

Why the little one wasn’t yowlin’ its head off, Bobby couldn’t figure.

Not until later, that is. Then he wondered why such a damn fool could also be so fuckin’ _blind_.

Bobby always thought it was too late by that point, more damage was done by the undoing, should’ve let things be, but he could see how the pretense of ordinary was such a temptation after everything else they’d been through.

Crazy on top of misery just ain’t a good place to make a family, though Bobby felt oftentimes enough that John wallowed in that shithole more than his fair share so he wasn’t in a position to throw stones. Didn’t keep John from grabbing a handful and heavin’ them blind in the hopes of making a change.

So it made _sense_ , even if it fucked things up even further for those boys, as if Bobby had any say in the matter.

After all, what did he know? Fourteenth century Latin exorcisms can’t ever really fix what’s broken, not when it’s been twisted into something altogether different already. He’d stick with his salvage yard and offer the boys a beer and a place to stay when they needed it – maybe a word of advice if they stopped long enough to listen.

The fool thinned as it passed down the Winchester genes, thank God. Dean got more than his fair share and even Sam had it stuffed in the odd little clefts in his brain, but neither of them could match their Daddy.

Hail Holy Mary and A-fuckin’-men.

But those boys, it wasn’t all that easy to notice at first, the verbal slips all too often attributed to sleepiness or distraction or just to the fact that Sam and Dean were just _kids_. Point out a grown man who doesn’t get confused when he’s talkin’ from time to time – much easier to lay the blame on age and innocence.

That’s all it was, really. Too young and too pure to know any better. Only the jadedness of age could see it as wrong.

Kinda sweet, if too much time was spent thinkin’ on it.

Kinda fuckin’ sad if even _more_ time was spent thinkin’ on it.

Bobby tried not to think on it too much. Could break a man’s heart, either way.

So the _I_ ’s and _me_ ’s and _we_ ’s and _us_ ’s became a little fluid. So the _he_ ’s and _you_ ’s and _him_ ’s kinda got lost in translation. Makes sense, right? Dean’s whole life became Sammy when he dragged him outta that fire that took his momma. Sam must’ve picked up the verbal oddity from Dean. God knows John wasn’t much of a talker.

Least, that’s what the counselor told John at the one school. Bobby never really believed that crock of shit. Pretty to think so, but the boys had their quirks because that’s the way they were forged. Fire molds things in abstract ways – who would think somethin’ as common as sand could be turned into glass? Their fire just happened to leave these boys more’n a little different in a way that no one suspected – fused them from two distinct entities into a singular being.

These boys weren’t just Dean and Sam. They were _DeanandSam_ , an altogether different creature. Could be considered a damn work of art from the odd perfection of it - somehow inevitable and downright disturbing all at the same time.  

So the boys had a little trouble differentiating themselves from each other. God knows it’s understandable. Probably made ‘em feel safe. So when Dean said quite plainly that he needed something - all requests or statements formulated around the _I_ and _me_ and _we_ and _us_ in a completely inappropriate way - and then proceeded to give it to Sammy, it was easy just to think it was an older brother lookin’ out for the little one.

But when it continued into middle school and Sammy was doin’ just the same, by then not even John could overlook it.

School even had Dean tested, thought he might be…slow. But he blew that damned test outta the water and the idea of slow never came up again. Psychologists had a field day, though – gave a laundry list of things possibly wrong with that little boy: dependent personality disorder, dissociative disorder, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, even autism. Never saw so many people so interested in telling a man his boy was fucked up. For some reason, they never seemed as interested in Sam, maybe ‘cause he was still so little and “fixable”, at that point.

John told ‘em all to fuck off, that his boys were _fine_ , and they up and left that town the same day.

That school never showed up in their records, Bobby felt sure of that.

Thing was, even with all these labels thrown at ‘em, none of ‘em stuck. _DeanandSam_ wasn’t crazy, not in a way anyone else could understand. It wasn’t Dean lookin’ after Sam or Sam lookin’ after Dean, it was _DeanandSam_ lookin’ after itself and all was right with the world.

They weren’t hurtin’ anybody and they could pass in the real world just fine. Bobby knew school didn’t count as _really_ real, where any sign of different was hunted down and forced to conform, so those boys were good as they were.

Still should’ve left the damn thing alone, and Bobby will stand by that till the day he dies. Pastor Jim meant well, but he interfered and there’s nothing more prone to messin’ things up than well-intentioned interference.

But Pastor Jim opened his big mouth and John couldn’t tell _him_ to fuck off as he had all the teachers and counselors and administrators that had tried to make him see it before.

The boys, though, they were bright little things. It’s not like they hadn’t picked up on all of this; they just didn’t give a rat’s ass about any of it because _DeanandSam_ was a fortress unto itself and fuck all who attacked its walls.

But when they saw their Daddy slump when Pastor Jim was talkin’ to him, when they saw that soft shake of shoulders that they never saw on their Daddy ‘cause their Daddy didn’t cry, no sir-ee – when they saw that, they knew what was comin’.

They made the decision on their own to make things easier on their Daddy and they up and remade themselves as Dean and Sam so they’d never see that look of defeat in the line of their Daddy’s shoulders ever again.

Must’ve nearly destroyed those boys to do so, but they loved their Daddy and they were strong little things, no matter what any of those counselors mighta thought.

Next time Bobby saw ‘em, he met Dean and Sam for the first time. Sounds weird, don’t it? Bobby had only ever met _DeanandSam_ before, and these were two entirely new children.

Dean didn’t like school as much. Only thirteen and he threw himself into hunting like his entire life depended on it. Those test scores back when they thought he might be slow just yellowed with age and crumbled at the edges in some school file back in Arkansas and the name of Dean Winchester, only one of the four students to have ever scored in the Very Superior range in the three surrounding counties, got lost under the expanding Average file nearby.

Sam, he was so young to begin with, but he seemed to pull away from the hunting side of life. Yeah, he could fight with his brother and shoot straight and hit a target with a bow, no problem. But some of the pure joy had been sapped from him - always looked on things with a serious expression that only his brother could occasionally crack.

Bobby adapted to the new Dean and Sam, got used to their eccentricities. Didn’t see them together again for years, even before Sam ran off to Stanford.

It was after John’s passing that Bobby noted the change.

He just shook his head and cursed that damn fool John once more, with a guilty snipe in Pastor Jim’s direction that he drank away with a couple bottles of beer later that night.

Man might’ve been wrong to push for a change, but he was a good man and Bobby felt guilty for blamin’ him for what happened, even if it were his fault.

He laid no blame at the boys’ feet. They were tryin’ to reclaim what they’d had as children, even if neither of them remembered it. Bobby once mentioned something that had both of ‘em lookin’ at him like he was crazy.

Probably easier not to remember your sanctuary when there’s no way of ever gettin’ it back, he figured.

Not that the boys weren’t tryin’. Bobby heard things in the night when they stayed with him, soft sounds to be sure, but Bobby wasn’t deaf and he certainly wasn’t _dumb_. They weren’t kids anymore and _DeanandSam_ had been destroyed. Men liked to couch closeness in terms of other needs, so Bobby could see how they might’ve gotten confused.

Wasn’t any of his business – never had been. They weren’t hurtin’ anybody _now_ anymore than they’d been hurtin’ anybody _then_.

The only ones ever hurt in all of this were the boys, as far as Bobby could tell. This seemed to be makin’ ‘em hurt less. Those boys could take care of themselves damn well enough without outside interference. If people kept their noses outta their business, this wouldn’t have been happenin’ at all. Let ‘em enjoy what they could make out of the remnants of _DeanandSam_. Wasn’t the same, but it served their needs as best it could.

So Bobby would do what he always did when it came to those boys.

He’d stick with his salvage yard and offer the boys a beer and a place to stay when they needed it – maybe a word of advice if they stopped long enough to listen.

That’s all.

The rest of it was none of his business. 


End file.
